“I don’t know.” My voice wavers despite myself. “I didn’t even have time to find out. We barely knew before we were taken.”
“Does Seth know?”
“Yeah.”
Pregnancy had never been part of the plan. Years ago my gynecologist warned me that PCOS might make it impossible. I convinced myself that was a blessing. I told myself I would never bring a child into a world where I had watched my parents die in front of me. Now the possibility of a baby growinginside me feels even heavier, because if I survive this place, that child will be born into something far darker.
The thought tightens painfully in my chest.
“What if I’m still here?” I whisper. “What if Seth never finds me?”
Miles shakes his head immediately. “Don’t think like that. From everything you told me about Seth, he’s coming.”
I wipe at my face, irritated by the tears that have slipped free, and force myself to nod.
“I love him so much. I miss him. This is the longest we have ever been apart.”
My voice cracks despite my effort to steady it.
“He's a murderer,” I say with a weak breath of laughter. “He's also a little psychotic. But he's the most kind, considerate, affectionate man I have ever been with.”
“My husband’s name is Alonzo,” Miles murmurs. “We're both nurses. We met during residency at the same hospital on the same shift.” A faint smile appears and then fades. “All we ever wanted was to help people. That was the whole dream.”
Miles looks down at his hands.
“Alonzo hates horror movies,” he says. “He says they stress him out too much. He cries during medical dramas. He overcooks chicken because he is terrified of food poisoning.”
His voice softens.
“I used to tease him about it.”
He looks toward the wall instead of at me.
“I just want to see him again.”
“You will.”
The silence between us grows thick and suffocating.
After a moment Miles speaks again, his voice steady but quieter.
“If I don’t make it out of here, I need you to tell him what happened. I don't want him sitting at home wondering if I'm still missing or thinking that I left him.”
My throat tightens.
“Tell him that I died with him as the last thing on my mind,” Miles continues. “I want him to know that I never stopped loving him.”
He swallows and then speaks carefully, making sure I hear every word.
“Our address is 24781 Riverbend Lane in Eugene, Oregon.”
I repeat it immediately under my breath.
“24781 Riverbend Lane. Eugene, Oregon.”
Again.
And again.
